


The Chimaera's Tail

by Lunas_Secret_Lover



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Bottom Harry, Drarry, Gay, Healer, M/M, Slash, Slow Burn, Smut, Top Draco
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-22
Updated: 2017-09-19
Packaged: 2018-10-09 10:32:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 16,083
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10410195
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lunas_Secret_Lover/pseuds/Lunas_Secret_Lover
Summary: Four years after the Battle of Hogwarts, Healer Draco Malfoy struggles with the sudden deaths of both of his parents.  When Harry Potter is brought to St. Mungo's, Draco is tasked with healing him.  He wasn't expecting Potter to return the favor.slash, smut, cannon compliant up until beginning of the story





	1. Grocery Lists

“She used to sing to me at night sometimes.  I thought I was too old for it, you know, I’d tell her to go away.  And mother would leave the room, but she wouldn’t stop singing.  I remember the sound of her voice slipping through the cracks in my door as I fell asleep.  I loved her voice,” Draco trailed off, remembering whom he was speaking too.  “I’m sorry, Andromeda.  Thank you for coming.”

 

His aunt smiled gently at him.  “Of course.  I’m so happy I got a few more years with your mother.  She really was something special, wasn’t she?”

 

“She was.  Brilliant witch.  I’ll miss her,” he admitted, to his own surprise.  

 

“The world will miss her after how she spent her last few years.  She redeemed the Malfoy name.”  

 

Draco nodded absentmindedly.  After the war, his family had been in disgrace.  His father refused to leave the Manor for weeks at a time.  Draco himself had a hard time facing the world after all of his crimes were revealed.  The shame clung to him like a bad smell, and no matter what he did it wouldn’t go away.  His mother’s spirit had been more resilient.  She set about making amends.  And, thank Merlin, she had insisted on dragging Draco with her.  She dragged him to see Potter and his gang. To apologize to the students of Hogwarts.  To volunteer cleaning bed pans at St. Mungo’s.  To lobby for the rights of muggles and mudbloods, even.  Draco still wasn’t sure how he felt about that part.  His father had been furious before he died.  But she had also made amends with her only living sister, and Draco got to meet his aunt.  

 

“I’ll miss her too, Draco,” little Teddy Lupin said, eyes full of tears.  For a child so young, the boy seemed to understand what was happening.  How old was he now? Four? Five?

 

“Thank you, Teddy,” he said, bending down to hug the child.  

 

“Come stay with us tonight,” Andromeda offered, putting a hand on his shoulder.  “We are always glad to have you.”

 

“Some other time,” he replied with a tight-lipped smile.  “I want to be alone tonight.”

 

“Of course,” his aunt replied, pulling him in for a last embrace.  “You are always welcome with us, Draco.  Don’t forget that.”  

 

Draco thanked her and moved on to say goodbye to the other guests that had gathered for the funeral.  He hadn’t cried yet.  He wasn’t sure why.  He had loved his mother, hadn’t he?  Why were his eyes dry when those who had barely known her were sobbing?  Draco remembered his father’s funeral, if you could call it that.  Just him, his mother and Andromeda.  He and his mother had both sobbed for hours while Andromeda tried to console them.  Why was today different?  

 

“Very sorry for your loss, Mr. Malfoy,” the Minister of Magic said in his slow, serious manner.  “Narcissa was a good woman.”

 

“Thank you, Minister,” Draco said, shaking his hand.  “Thank you for coming.”

 

The minister nodded and made his exit, quickly replaced by someone Draco didn’t know.  So many witches and wizards had loved his mother in the end, almost despite themselves.  His boss approached and clapped Draco on the back.

 

“She’ll be missed, Malfoy.  No doubt about that.  I remember the first day the both of you came in to scrub bed pans.  I tried to give you the worst work I could find.  Thought she just wanted to fix your family’s image.” He chuckled to himself.  “If I’d have known then that the lad I was making scrub up shit would end up being one of my healers, I’d have made you do something else.”

 

Draco laughed weakly with him.  “Scrubbing shit builds character.  She told me that, you know? Said I would have been a good man sooner had she made me clean up my own messes as a child.”

 

“Ah well, you certainly do that now.  I want you to take the rest of the week off, boy. Mourn her.  We’ll get on alright without you.”

 

“Are you sure, sir?”  Bulchrom waved his hands in the air and shook his head as though it were nothing.  

 

“Of course.  The new trainees will be coming in.  We’ll have more hands than we know what to do with.”  Draco thanked him, moved by the kindness.  

 

He felt someone touch his arm, and turned to meet them.  He came face to face with Astoria, and another stab of pain hit his heart.  His estranged wife had come.  He had married her almost right after the war, needing something to distract himself from the guilt of the things he had done.  But they were far too young to marry, especially Astoria who hadn’t finished school yet.  And she had always felt more like a little sister to him than a wife.  Although they were still married in name, they lived separate lives and rarely saw one another.

 

“Draco,” she said softly, “I’m so sorry.”

 

“Thank you, Astoria.” Trying desperately to think of something to say to her, he wrung his hands together a little pathetically.  “She would be glad you came.”

 

Astoria nodded, and turned, walking away from her husband.  Draco watched her go, wishing that he could have thought of something to say, something that would get her to stay with him a little longer.  Most of his friends died in the battle of Hogwarts.  That, or were imprisoned, or wanted nothing more to do with him.  His mother and Astoria had been his last real friends, as pathetic as that was, and he had lost them both now. He had no one.

 

Eventually, the remaining guests dissipated, and he found himself alone in his home.  The place that he had known since he was a baby suddenly felt huge to him for the first time.    As though it was a giant, about to swallow him up.  He sighed, and the sound echoed around the empty hall.  

 

“Do you need anything, master?” The high-pitched voice nearly made him jump out of his skin.

 

“Merlin’s beard, Flighty, you scared me half to death,” he reprimanded his last remaining house-elf. 

 

“Flighty is sorry, sir,” the creature said, bowing deeply.  “Flighty is very sneaksy  and quiet.” 

 

“It’s alright,” Draco said, heart still beating a little too fast.  “Could you get me a bottle of scotch? One of the good ones?  And bring it to my study.”

 

“Of course, master.”  Flighty bowed again and took off towards the kitchens, large ears flapping behind him.  Draco shook his head at the strange elf, and walked to his study.  The room was full of books, all stacked on shelves around a single desk and an arm chair.  Something about being surrounded by all of the old words, stoic and unchanging, made him feel a little better.  

 

Flighty returned with the scotch quickly, and Draco sank into his armchair.  He didn’t bother pouring a glass, knowing how much he was likely to drink tonight it wouldn’t be worth it.  Instead, he removed the cap with some difficulty and took a swig straight from the bottle,  letting the liquor burn its way down his throat.  Before he knew it, half the bottle was gone and the room was spinning.  He slowly stood to go to bed, and unsteadily started off down the hallway.  Somehow, he made it to his room.  He put the scotch on his dresser and noticed an old note beside it.  It read:

 

_ Draco- _

_ Could you grab a few things for me today after work?  I need cabbages, a pound of flesh-eating slug and wolfsbane.  Thank you, darling! _

_ Love Mother _

 

Finally, blissfully, he finally burst into tears, holding the note to his chest until it was damp and the words began to blur.

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

Draco spent the next two days in a drunken haze of tears.  He barely left his bed, barely touched the food Flighty brought up for him.  By Friday, he was desperate for distraction.  He forced himself to shower, put on clean robes, and slicked his hair back into its usual neat style.  Surveying himself in the mirror, he scowled in disapproval.  His robes hung off of him loosely, his usually slim form even thinner than normal.  Somehow, even after the shower, his hair still looked greasy and limp.  The grey eyes he was normally so proud of were hidden behind swollen bags.  They were still bloodshot from all of his tears.  Sighing, Draco left the Manor and set off for St. Mungos.  They were always in need of extra hands.

 

He apparated into the lobby, far preferring magical ways of transportation to talking to a dummy.  The hospital was busier than normal today.  Draco frowned as he made his way to the  [ Dai Llewellyn ](http://harrypotter.wikia.com/wiki/Dai_Llewellyn) Ward, trying to avoid bumping into any of the nurses pushing carts or patients waiting to be admitted.  He was especially careful to steer clear of a little boy and his mother, clearly infected with Dragon Pox, since he wasn’t wearing any protective clothing.  

 

“Good morning, Fawcet,” he said, passing another healer.  “Alright?”

 

“Alright, thanks, Malfoy.  You?  So sorry to hear about your mother,” the pretty older witch was carrying a surgical tray with what looked like a dragon’s tooth on it and a very large pair of tweezers.

 

“Alright, thanks,” he called as she grew further away, pulled by the crowd and her responsibilities.  One of the things he loved about his fast-paced career was that he rarely had full conversations with the other healers.  It was never rude to run off in the middle of a sentence here; if anything it was expected.    Finally he arrived in his ward.  Head Healer Bulchrom rushed up to him as he entered the break room.  

 

“Malfoy!  What are you doing here?”

 

“I’m sorry, sir, I just couldn’t sit at home another day.  I was going mad.”

 

“Ah, well I’m glad you came in,” the portly man said, looking frazzled for once.  “A team of aurors stepped into a chimaera’s nest.  They all survived, they were just attacked by the babies, but all four of them are in bad condition.  Not to mention all the holiday patients we have on our lists.”

 

“Chimaeras? They’re lucky to have survived,” Draco said surprised.  “When are they being brought?”   
  


“Erm, as quickly as possible.  But Potter is one of them.  Security is going to be absolute madness.  We’re putting him in a private room, of course.  And I want you to be his daytime healer.  We’ll want someone with him at all times.  In case some nutter gets any crazy ideas.”

 

A familiar strike of anxiety hit Draco at the thought of his former rival.  Potter had accepted his apology graciously enough at the time, of course, but Draco hadn’t seen him in over a year.  Old wounds could still hurt, he knew, and he wouldn’t blame the other man for hating him enough to request a new healer.  Nevertheless, Draco resolved to do his best.  He had chosen to come back a few days early, afterall.

 

“Alright, where would you like him?”  

 

“Room 111.  I’ll send trainees your way occasionally, if you need help.”

  
“I’ll read up on chimaeras until he gets here,” Draco said with a smirk.  He knew chimaera injuries like the back of his hand and Bulchrom knew it.  A summer in Greece as a medic had seen to that.  His head healer shook his head with a grin and ran off to tend to his patients.  Draco set off down the hall, apprehensive but with a strange sense of anticipation he hadn’t felt since his Hogwarts days.


	2. Healer

Potter had a full retinue escorting him to the hospital.  Four trainee healers stood around him, two holding up bed sheets to keep the dozen or so members of the press from snapping pictures of the fallen Chosen One, the others pushing the trolley he lay on.  Nurses flurried about the moving table like flies, mostly getting in the way and impeding their progress.  Draco watched in mild amusement as the procession slowly made its way to Potter’s hospital room.  The other victims were no doubt already being tended to; only the famous were accosted like this.  Someone managed to shoo the press away, and get Potter to where he needed to be.

 

“I’m fine, really,” Potter prattled to anyone who would listen, “Look, I barely got bit at all.  I don’t need to be in the bloody hospital.”  The trainees and nurses ignored him, wheeling him into the large hospital room.  Some of them rolled their eyes at Draco or gave him sympathetic glances on their way out.  Draco approached his bed softly, and Potter shut up as soon as he saw him.

 

“Alright there, Potter?” Draco asked sarcastically, looking over his injuries.  Two snake bites on his left arm and a hastily bound wound from the lion’s claws across his chest.  He prayed the claw wound wasn’t deep.

 

“Malfoy,” Potter said.  Draco wasn’t sure if the contempt he heard was in his head or in Potter’s voice.  “I’m fine.  I told them already.   I don’t need to be here.”  Draco stepped closer and noted with amusement that someone had used binding charms to keep him stuck to the bed. Technically the ministry could treat chimaera wounds without consent, as the symptoms had been known to draw muggle attention, and the statute of secrecy was their top priority.  Most wizards were desperate for treatment by the time they were in Potter’s state, though.  The stupidity of Gryffindors would never cease to amaze him.  He began removing the bandage around Potter’s chest, being careful not to agitate the wound.

 

“Did they give you anything for the pain?” he asked, ignoring Harry’s complaints.

 

“They tried, I didn’t need it,” Potter said, as though trying to be brave.  

 

“Well you will want something tonight,” Draco said wryly, “Right, this isn’t too deep, which is good.  We can accelerate the healing a little, but Chimaera venom will prevent most of the usual spells and potions from closing it up.  I’m more worried about these.”     
  


He gestured to the snakebites.  “Are there any more bites?”  Harry shook his head, looking peeved.  

 

“No, see, I’m fine.”  

 

Draco rolled his eyes.  Trying to keep a professional demeanor, he bent down to Harry’s eye level.

 

“I’m going to give you the first dose of antivenom for those bites.”  Draco turned to his potions table and carefully measured out a small amount of a bubbling purple liquid into a syringe.  He double-checked the measurement twice and returned to the bedside.

 

“Ready?”

 

“After this will you let me go home?”

 

“Potter, if I let you go home after this you’ll be dead by tomorrow.  You’re going to feel a burning sensation.  It’ll pass in a few moments.”  He took a mollified Potter’s arm with one hand, and injected him with the other.  Draco watched his face as he slowly pushed in the antivenom.  He could see that Potter was trying to be brave, but he winced a little as the liquid entered his body. 

 

Trying to distract him, Draco asked, “Do you know anything about chimaeras?”

 

The other man shook his head with gritted teeth.  “Well they’re not the kind of beast you want to mess with, Potter.  Only one has ever been killed by a wizard.  You’re lucky you only dealt with the young.  Chimaera venom is deadly if left untreated.  We’ll dose you with the antivenom over the next few days.”

 

“A few days?” Potter asked aghast, “Why not give me the full dosage now so I can leave?”

 

Draco felt his old temper flare up, despite his efforts to hold it down.  “Why, are you anxious to get back to spending your days drunk and alone in that musty old broom cupboard you call a house?”  

 

He readied himself for Potter’s answering anger, or a sharp quip, but the other man looked as though Draco had slapped him. “Sorry,” he muttered, finding that he meant it.  “If I gave you the full dosage of the antivenom all at once, that would kill you too.”

 

“Oh,” Potter said.  His face was flushed, from anger or shame at Draco’s jab, and again Draco regretted it. 

 

“I need to rebind that,” he said, gesturing to Potter’s chest.  The dark haired man inclined his head, and Draco began to apply a healing salve gently.

 

“How did you come across a chimaera in Great Britain at all?” he asked carefully, keeping his tone light.  He conjured a tightly wrapped bandage over the claw marks.

 

“Hunting down some Greek loony,” Potter replied, still not meeting his eyes. “Had a nest of them outside his house to keep us out.”   
  


“Ah,” Draco smirked despite himself.  “Well I’m glad I chose a profession where I get to keep both of my arms.”

 

“I’m going to lose my arm?” Potter asked, horrified.

 

“What?  No, Merlin, Potter, it was a joke,” Draco explained, exasperated.  Was he so terrible in his school days that Potter wouldn’t expect him to be joking?  He rubbed his forehead wearily.  “You’ll be fine in a week.  As long as you don’t do anything stupid.”

 

Potter stared at him for a moment before giving him something that was almost a smile.  “You may have to keep me restrained if that’s a requirement.”

 

“For a moment I almost forgot who I was talking to.”  Draco tried to force a smile back at the other man.  He vanished the spells keeping Potter bound to the bed, with the warning, “Don’t move much.  It’ll hurt.”

 

As though out of instinct, Potter reached to rub his injured arm with his good one.  He grimaced in pain.  

 

“I told you,” Draco said. Under his breath, he whispered, “Thickhead.”  

 

“I’m stuck here for a week, you said?  Does the Auror office know?”

 

“I would assume so.”  He frowned.  “Since they were the ones that got you sent here.”

 

“Right.”

 

“Look, Potter, since you’re going to be here for a week you should have something to take the edge off the pain.  I’ll get you something that won’t dull your senses much.  Would you take that?”  Potter nodded a little.  “And here I was thinking you were a COMPLETE idiot.”

 

There it was again.  That hint of a smile.  Draco wasn’t used to seeing it directed at him, but it was nice.  There was something about the Chosen One that made those around him want his approval, and Draco found, to his chagrin, that he wasn’t as immune as he’d thought.  He wondered if they could have been friends, had he been less of an arse at Hogwarts.

 

“Good.  I’ll go get a nurse or a bored trainee to fetch you some,” he said, walking towards the door.

 

“I’m sorry about your mother, Draco,” Potter said.  Draco paused for a moment, surprised.  “She was a good woman.”

 

“Thank you,” he said, for what felt like the hundredth time.  He stuck his head out into the hallway to find a nurse, blinking tears from his eyes.  The bustle of the hospital, the routine of diagnosis had distracted him for a moment.  Bloody Potter had to bring him back to reality.   He was surprised Potter even knew about his mother, or cared enough to mention her.  A good woman, he said.  Even Potter knew she had been a good woman.  

 

Draco couldn’t afford to break down here.  Not where he worked.  He took in a deep breath of air through his nose and held it in, counting the seconds before letting it out through his mouth.  He focused on his breathing, like his father had taught him, until he regained control of himself, then sent the nearest nurse scurrying away for a weak pain potion.  Taking one more deep breath, he reentered the room.

 

“Right, then.  We’ll have that in a moment.  How do you feel, Potter?  Dizzy?  Nausous?”  

 

“A little dizzy,” he admitted.  Draco took his temperature with a flourish of his wand.  Normal for now.  That was good.

 

“I can get you something for that too,”  Draco noted.  “Oh, I suppose I should warn you about some of the more unpleasant side effects of chimaera venom.”  A knock alerted him of the nurse’s return.  She didn’t enter, and Draco suspected they had the door warded to keep out unwanted guests.  He retrieved the potion quickly and shut her out again.

 

“Unpleasant side effects?”  Potter prompted as Draco poured a generous amount of the painkiller into a cup.

 

“Drink.”  Potter drank.  “Nothing too terrible.  You’ll probably be feverish tomorrow, with mild hallucinations.  The day after you should feel a bit better, but your skin will change colors.  I believe that’s the reason chimaera victims are kept at Mungo’s for so long.  Muggles notice blue skin.”  

 

Potter looked nervous, so Draco hurriedly continued, “Don’t worry, it’s nothing permanent.  Most victims don’t need to stay for much longer than a week.”

 

“What am I supposed to do until then?”  

 

Draco stared at him nonplussed.  “Er, whatever you want to do?”

 

“Can I shower?”

 

“I hope you will,” Draco replied smirking. “There’s a water closet attached to the room.  We have a library here.  Not a huge selection, but if you get too bored you could always read.  There’s chess, or exploding snap as well.  We could play.”

 

“Don’t you have other patients?”  Potter asked.

 

“No, no.  I’m a Junior Healer still.  A step above trainee and a step below an official healer.  They have me tending you because I’ve treated chimaera attack victims for years.  And you’re a bit high profile, scarhead.  My head healer knows I can keep my mouth shut and keep you alive.”  He cursed himself at letting ‘scarhead’ slip out.   It was more out of habit than spite, but Potter may not know that.  Professionalism was important, if he wanted to advance.

 

“Alright.”  Potter was so bloody difficult to read.  His tone was neutral, but Draco was certain he resented the hospital’s choice of his healer.

 

“Do you want a book now?” Draco asked, already regretting his offer of exploding snap.

 

Potter shook his head, yawning.  “I think that pain potion is hitting.  I may sleep for a bit.”

 

“Good,” Draco said approvingly.  “I’ll give you more antivenom when you wake up.”

 

The Chosen One was asleep in less than five minutes, drool already dripping from his mouth onto the pillow.  Draco sighed and prepared another draft of the antivenom.  He conjured himself a chair, wondering what he was supposed to do while his one and only charge slept.  He stared at Potter, hoping for inspiration.  The Boy Who Lived looked smaller in his sleep.  And younger too, with the frown that seemed to appear around Draco gone.  Before he knew it, it had been an hour, and Draco reluctantly roused Potter to give him his injection.

 

“ ’Time is it?”  he asked groggily, fumbling around as though looking for something.  He gripped Draco’s left arm as though by accident, and Draco jerked away as though he had been shocked.   Heart racing, he managed to convince himself that his dark mark wouldn’t burn anymore, ever again.

 

“Time for antivenom, Potter, sorry to wake you.”

 

“Mmm s’okay.”  

 

“You can go back to sleep after this.”  Draco picked up the syringe he’d prepared, and injected Potter.  There was no grimace this time; Draco hoped that was a sign that the pain potion was working.

 

“No, no,” said Potter, waking up a little more.  “No, I’m awake now.  Feel up to a game of exploding snap?”

 

Draco smirked.  “Only if you feel up to getting your arse handed to you.”

 

Potter blinked the sleep from his eyes.  “You can’t beat me.  I am the Chosen Snapper.”  

 

Draco rolled his eyes again, but summoned the board, hiding the unwanted smile from his face by pretending to cough.

  
“Good luck.  I never said I played fair.”


	3. Chapter 3

Draco left the hospital that night wearing his first genuine smile since his mother died.  He wasn’t sure why, exactly.  Maybe it was the thrill of having a patient he already knew exactly how to treat.  Maybe it was finally having someone to talk to that wasn’t an old house elf.  Maybe it was just seeing someone from his school days, even if that someone was a bit of an arse.  All he knew was that he felt a little better, and it was thanks to the man forced into his care for the next week.  He had left detailed instructions for the night healer on how to care for Potter, but he was worried nonetheless that his orders wouldn’t be followed.  He left instructions for Potter to send a patronus if he started to feel worse.

 

But when he returned home to his empty house, full of memories of the family he had lost, the spark in his heart died out.  Draco knew chimaera symptoms like the back of his hand.  He rationalized that if Potter needed him, he’d be able to do as good of a job slightly intoxicated as sober.  He asked Flighty for a bottle of wine, and drank a glass by the fire, brooding.  The flames flickered and changed in a mesmerizing pattern.  When the first was gone, Draco’s thoughts were still too loud, so he poured himself another.  Soon he was unsteady, but more numb, and ready to sleep.  He left Flighty with instructions to wake him if any messages came, and fell into a drunken slumber.  

 

Draco woke up in his armchair in the parlour with a headache.  He summoned a hangover potion, rubbing his sore joints.  The fire had burned out sometime during the night, and only black ashes remained.  Potter hadn’t sent for him.  Draco wasn’t sure why he’d expected the stubborn man to admit that he was in pain, but he was a little disappointed nonetheless. It was only 4 am, but Draco got ready for work early, thinking the night healer would appreciate being relieved a few hours early.  He slicked his hair back neatly, scrutinizing himself in the mirror.    Not bad for 4 am, he decided.

 

Draco apparated to Mungo’s.  It was far quieter this early in the morning, although orderlies and doctors were still bustling about.   He made his way to Potter’s room, trying his best not to look too eager.  He found the night healer asleep in a chair next to the bed.  Potter was spasming.  Draco grabbed the bottle of antivenom, filling a syringe as quickly as he could before injecting his patient in the neck.  His breathing slowed and became more even.  Seething, Draco shook the healer awake.

 

“You stupid bloody squib, you almost let a man die.  When your one fucking job is to stay awake, how much of a loser to you have to be to sleep?”

 

“I was only asleep for a moment, I swear,” the man said, looking panicked.  “Please, don’t tell Bulchrom I was asleep.”   
  


“Your arse will be bloody lucky if all I do is tell Bulchrom.  Get out,” Draco said coldly, turning back to Potter.  The other man seemed alright, now that he was caught up on his dosage of antivenom.  He was blinking, slowly waking up.  Draco took his temperature.  It was still on the high side of normal.  He breathed a sigh of relief.

 

“Potter.  Are you alright?” he asked, placing the back of his hand on the dark haired-man’s forehead. 

 

“I-I think so.  What happened?”   
  


“That fucking imbecile forgot to dose you for two hours.  I was mad to leave you alone with him.  Are you sure you feel alright, Potter?  Do you need another pain potion?”

 

“I’ll be fine,” Potter said, clearly not fine.  Draco frowned and went to pour him more pain potion.

 

“You know, Potter, you’d be a lot less miserable right now if you told me what was wrong.”  

 

Potter took the glass with a defeated sigh.  “Alright.  My head feels like it’s being trampled by centaurs.  Something in my chest feels tight.  My arm hurts like hell.”

 

Draco let out a surprised laugh before he could help himself.  “Well, thank you for your honesty.  That makes my job easier.”

 

Potter looked a little guilty.  “I thought something might be wrong an hour ago.  I couldn’t move my arm.  And my heart beat was wonky.  I should have sent for you.”   
  


“You should have.  Clearly you need me to stay tonight.  I gave you one piece of advice, Potter, didn’t I?”  he drawled.  “Don’t do anything stupid.  And it took less than 24 hours for you to forget even that.”

 

“You don’t have to stay,” Potter protested, “You have better things to do than sit around watching me sleep, I’m sure.”

 

“Not really.”  Draco was shocked at his own honesty.  Potter gave him a curious look for a long moment.

 

“You’re different than I thought you were, Draco.  Less of a prat.”

 

Draco smirked, “Well you’re as much of a prat as ever, Potter.”

 

“I’d be put out if you said I wasn’t.  Thank you.  For saving my life.”

 

“Don’t worry, there wasn’t much to save,” Draco quipped.  More softly, he added, “I’m glad you’re alright, Potter.”

 

“Me too.”  Harry yawned.  “Is it alright if I go back to sleep for a few hours?”

 

“Of course.  Let me just change your bandages.”  Draco pulled out his wand and set about redressing Potter’s wounds.  He tried not to look at the man’s exposed, muscular chest for too long as he rubbed on a healing ointment.  The Chosen One of course had to be bloody attractive on top of everything else.  Life wasn’t fair.

 

“Do you mind if I give you the antivenom while you sleep?  You could sleep longer that way.”

 

“No, please go right ahead.”  Harry’s head nodded against his chest and snapped back up again.  “If it’s not too much trouble.”

 

“To get a chance to not hear your voice for a few hours?  That’s the opposite of trouble.”

 

“I have been known to duel in my sleep,” Potter warned.

 

“Well, I could beat you in MY sleep, so I’m not concerned.  Would you take a sleeping draft?”   
  


“I would.”

 

“You must be in a lot of pain,” Draco said.  He stared in worried suspicion at Potter.  “I can give you something stronger for the pain as well.”

 

“The pain is fine.  I’m fine.”

 

“If you say you’re fine one more time, you’ll be getting your antivenom rectally.”

 

“A stronger potion would be nice, thank you.”

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

Draco was watching Potter sleep again.  He tried telling himself that he was only doing what any self-respecting healer would do for a patient in Potter’s condition, but it somehow felt like more than that.  He liked seeing Potter vulnerable.  The faces he made when his brow wasn’t furrowed were a nice change.  Draco liked knowing that he was in charge of Potter’s protection.  As though he could save the Boy Who Lived completely on his own.  He had sent an owl to Bulchrom with a rant about the healer on night duty, and demanding wakefulness potion to watch Potter himself.  He was still furious that a healer would sleep on duty, risking his patient’s life for a few useless hours of rest.  

 

Potter rolled onto his back with a loud snore, and Draco laughed to himself.  He stopped laughing when he glanced back to Potter, however.  There was a tent in the sheet now, standing up from the rest of the bed.  That was normal, Draco rationalized.  Many of his patients had sexual urges whilst in the hospital.  It was only human.  But most of his patients didn’t spark his arousal.  Something about Potter’s hard cock poking up in his sleep got Draco’s blood rushing, in a not entirely unpleasant way.  Potter was an attractive man, as annoying as he was, and it was only natural for Draco to notice.  Draco found himself salivating as he looked, lecherously gazing at the Chosen One’s cock.  He imagined what it would look like without the covering sheet, how it would feel in his hand, warm and hard.  What did Potter sound like in bed?  Would he moan for Draco if Draco was fucking him hard and rubbing his cock?  He found his hand on his own cock, pulling up and down through the folds of his robes.  Stopping, he looked guiltily up at Potter’s face, but the man was still out cold.  Draco took his temperature and checked his symptoms before hurrying to the bathroom to wank.

 

He emerged a few minutes later, feeling guilty and a little dirty.  Draco had never fantasized about one of his patients before.  Potter wasn’t just his patient, though, and Draco had often fantasized about bending him over after particularly brutal quidditch games and giving him what he deserved.  There was nothing wrong with finding him attractive.  It wasn’t as though Draco would ever cross a professional line and try to act on his attraction.  As though under the imperius curse, he looked back over to the man on the bed, eyes drawn to his cock.  Still hard.  He gulped, reluctantly pulling his eyes away.  He summoned a book, but found he couldn’t focus on that either.  Finally, he resorted to checking his watch every two minutes until it was time to inject his patient again.  

 

He approached the head of the bed, carefully avoiding looking towards Potter’s feet, and pressed a hand against Harry’s neck.  He pushed the needle in as gently as he could, but Potter still stirred at his touch, rolling towards him.  Draco pulled out the syringe as a still-sleeping Potter reached for his waist and pulled him towards the bed.  At Potter’s touch, Draco’s dick sprung to attention, despite his best efforts to keep it down.  He pulled himself out of reach and retreated once again to his chair, shaken.  The next few injections, he was sure to stay clear of Potter’s reaching hands.  

 

After what felt like millions of years to Draco, Potter stretched and blearily opened his eyes.  

 

“Morning,” he yawned.

 

“How do you feel?”   _ Professional.  Act like a bloody professional. _

 

“Better than last night.”

 

“Good, that’s good,” Draco fumbled, avoiding Harry’s eyes.  “I’m going to give you a pain potion, and a fever suppressant.  The fever suppressant won’t really work, of course, but it might make the hallucinations easier.  You have a few hours before those start, so if you need to shower or anything, now would be the time.”

 

Potter’s deep green eyes were on him.  Draco could feel them.  He hurriedly went to get the pain potion.  “I will shower, thanks.”

 

Draco gave him the glass and went to undo the bandages.  He did Potter’s arm first.  That was safer territory.  The snake bites weren’t healing, but Draco hadn’t expected them to.  The bandages there were mostly to keep out infection.  Gulping, he moved down to the chest wounds.  Touching Potter’s skin was sending electric currents of want through him, and he hoped his arousal wasn’t obvious to his patient.  He gently removed the bandages.

  
“Right, you’re good to go,” he said.  Potter nodded and headed for the bathroom.  The thin hospital gown that covered his lower body stuck out awkwardly around his hard-on, and he didn’t seem to be making any moves to hide it.  Draco sank onto the bed, trying to quell his lustful thoughts so that he could treat Harry properly.  They didn’t seem eager to leave, however, so Draco faced away from the bathroom door, just in case, and pulled at his own cock frantically.  He came in less than a minute, desperately trying to stop the groan leaving his throat as he imagined cumming all over Harry Potter’s face.


	4. Truth

Draco took deep breaths, trying to steady himself. He thought of the most boring facts he could think of while he waited for Potter to come out of the shower. To his relief, Bulchrom showed up to assure him that the night healer had been properly taken care of.

“Sacked of course, my boy. Can’t have night healers falling asleep on duty. As to you staying on as a night healer for Potter, are you sure that’s a good idea?”

“What do you mean, sir?”

 

“What, with everything going on in your personal life,” he said, shifting from foot to foot uncomfortably. “I completely understand the need to take it easy for a while.”

 

Draco swallowed hard, feeling an irrational surge of anger hit him. In a tight voice, he said, “No, sir, I am perfectly capable of deciding my capacity for work, and I am the most competent healer to heal Potter.”

 

Bulchrom looked embarrassed. “Of course. Well if at any time you need relief, just send word. Wakefulness potions only work for so long, Malfoy, as I’m sure you know.”

“I’ll only take it for a few days. While his condition stabilizes.” 

“Right well I’ll have someone send it up to you right away. Bloody laws against summoning charms for potions in hospitals. We could get rid of half the interns if they weren’t needed for just carrying things about.” Shaking his head, Bulchrom waddled away. Draco’s arousal had been happily replaced with annoyance. He brooded in his chair until Potter came back into the room, hospital gown sticking to his still-damp body. 

“Who was that?” Potter asked.

“Oh, my bloody boss. He’s the Head Healer in the MCI wing. He’s alright mostly, but he meddles far too often.”

“Oh,” Potter said, taking a seat on the bed.

“Do you need another pain draft?” Potter shook his head. “Honestly, Potter?”

Potter nodded, chagrined. Draco smirked and went to pour it for him. “You know, today you’ll be out of your head with hallucinations anyway, Potter, you may as well have something stronger.”

“I don’t want anything stronger, thanks, Draco,” he said testily.

“Suit yourself,” Draco shrugged. He gave Potter the potion and prepared another injection. “So would you like to know what you’ll be up against today?”

“Will knowing make it any better?”

“Probably not, but I’m going to tell you either way so you might as well agree.”

“How kind of you to give me the illusion of choice.”

Draco gave him a mocking bow. “If you drink a few potions, the hallucinations shouldn’t be terrible. You’ll just see strange things in your normal environment. They can be uncomfortable, though. Your head might hurt. We do have stronger potions for that.”

“Why do you keep trying to give me pain potions? Are you trying to get me high?” Potter’s tone was playful but curious. Draco sneered at him as convincingly as he could.

“Yes, Potter. That’s my entire goal as a healer. To get my patients high enough that they won’t realize I’m robbing them blind.”

“It’s a noble goal, really. I can respect it.” Draco snorted, pushing a needle into Harry’s neck.

“Well thank Merlin I have the Boy Who Lived’s respect. Are you always this bloody chipper in the morning?”

“Only when old schoolmates are giving me drugs,” Potter replied. And then he did it. He smiled at Draco, a real smile this time. Draco felt a pang of shock hit him, as he realized he was returning the smile. 

“So what do you want to do today? Do you feel like losing at Snap again?”

“I was thinking chess this time. And let’s make it interesting.”

“Interesting?” Draco asked.

“Yes, Draco, surely you’ve learned what interesting means at this point in your career.”

“I meant how, you great git.”

 

“A piece for a secret,” Potter said, a strange glint in his eyes. “Every piece you lose, you have to answer a question. Entirely honestly. Could you get us veritaserum?”

Draco thought about it for a moment, then shook his head, cursing under his breath. “We can’t summon potions in the building. And Bulchrom would have my head if I asked for it.”

“I have some.” Draco snorted again, sure Potter was having him on.

“You do not.”

“I do, I mean it! I’m a bloody auror, for Godric’s sake. It’s in my bag. Should be in a little clear bottle.” Draco looked suspiciously at his charge before walking over to where Potter’s bag hung on the coat rack. He found the veritaserum among a host of other potions, scraps of parchment and a molding half-eaten sandwich. He backed away, disgusted.

“Got it. No cheating. We can only ask the questions when we lose a piece, right?” Potter nodded. Draco conjured up the room’s chess board and poured them each a shot of the truth potion.

“Bottoms up,” Potter said, clinking his cup against Draco’s before downing it in a gulp.

“Stupid mistake, Potter, I’m a Slytherin,” Draco said. “If I wanted I could just not take mine and ask whatever I wanted.”

“Well you don’t have to play if you’re scared,” Potter said, eyes flashing in challenge. Rolling his eyes, Draco downed his glass. 

“Right, onward then. I’ll be black.”

“That’s racially insensitive.”

“You’re not bloody funny, Potter, it’s your move.”

The game began. Draco played as defensively as he could, trying not to even let pawns be threatened. Nonetheless he was the first to lose a piece. Potter grinned triumphantly.

“Alright, Draco. Ready?” 

“No,” Draco said, feeling as though the word had been torn from his throat.

“Let’s start easy. What was your favorite class at Hogwarts?”

 

“Charms,” he blurted out before he could stop himself. “Too bloody easy, Potter.”

Draco took Potter’s knight next, feeling rather proud of himself as he watched his pawn beat the other piece into a pile of rubble. “Why’d Weasley dump you?”

Potter frowned, as if expecting this. Grudgingly, he said, “Because she was in love with Dean Thomas.”

Draco laughed, then caught himself, feeling guilty again at the hurt on Potter’s face. But Potter wasn’t hurt by him, he was hurt by the words that continued to pour out of his mouth.

“Because I didn’t fuck her enough so she started fucking Dean Thomas.”

“Oh, sorry, Potter.”

“S’alright. I didn’t love her anyways.” Draco raised an eyebrow and the game continued. He managed to take one of Potter’s pawns, and carefully thought of a question.

“Alright, what’s your favorite flavor of Bertie Bott’s?”

 

Harry chuckled, “Marshmellow. And my question was easy?” 

Draco lost another piece, cursing. “Do your worst.” He dramatically closed his eyes as though expecting a bullet.

“Why were you such a prat to me in school?”

“I was jealous,” Draco said. “I was jealous that you were special and that everyone loved you even when you fucked up. I was confused because I liked you too in a way. You’re just so bloody likeable, Potter.” 

Harry grinned at his answer, and Draco could have sworn there was a flush to his cheeks. Draco lost his bishop to Harry’s queen and sighed as angrily as he could manage.

“Alright, Draco. Why do you still call me Potter?”

Draco groaned. “Because I’m afraid that if I call you Harry I’ll grow too attached and bad things will happen.”

“What sort of-? Nevermind. I’ll ask when I win the next piece.” 

“What makes you think you’ll win the next piece?”

“Because your pawn is threatened by my knight. Bloody hell, Malfoy, we said no cheating,” Harry accused as Draco sent his pawn to safety.

“Sorry,” Draco said, not sorry at all. He managed to take Potter’s rook, feeling very proud of himself. “How am I different than you thought I was in school?”

“You’re more kind,” Harry began through clenched teeth. “You’re funny, you’re likeable. And you’re really bloody tall.” Draco laughed. 

“You should get your eyes checked, Potter, I’ve always been tall.”

“You seem taller now.”

“That’s because you’re sitting down.” In a final grand gesture, Harry took one of Draco’s pawns with his queen and checkmated him.

“That’s two questions, Draco. Because I won.”

“Fine,” he said.

“Why’d you become a healer?”

“To make up for the people I didn’t save.” Draco stared down at his feet, embarrassed. His embarrassment only increased as Potter put a hand on his knee.

“Last one for this game.”

“Well we’ve got to play another so I can redeem myself,” Draco said. Harry smiled.

“Alright then. Why didn’t you tell Bellatrix and the rest that the snatchers had captured me?”

“So now we’re playing hard ball. Honestly? I was afraid. I was terrified to see He Who Must Not be Named show up in my living room again.” Harry looked disappointed. 

Against his will, Draco continued, “And I didn’t want you to get hurt.”

“I see,” Potter said, his face inscrutable. 

“What are you thinking?” Draco asked without thinking.

In a deadpan voice, Potter replied, “I’m thinking that it’s odd that there’s a little green ghoul resting on your shoulder.”

“Oh, the hallucinations have started. Right then, Potter, I’ll expect you want to go back to bed?”

 

Harry shook his head. “Veritaserum is expensive and I reckon we have at least an hour left. Another game.”

“Another game,” Draco agreed, resetting the board with his wand. “But don’t you dare try to use those hallucinations as an excuse when you lose.”

“Right,” Potter said. “I won’t lose.” 

Draco protected his pieces as valiantly as he could, but Potter still drew first blood.

“Bloody hell, scarhead, how are you so good at this?”

 

“Ron taught me,” Potter said. “And I ask the questions here. I’m sorry if this is a bit insensitive…” he trailed off.

“It’s alright,” Draco said. “The sensitive questions are never the fun ones.”

“Alright,” Potter looked at him guiltily as he asked, “How did your father die?”

Draco felt the same icy calm that he had held onto since his father’s death. “Suicide.”

“Draco- I’m sorry, I didn’t know-”

“It’s fine,” Draco said. And it was fine. His father had died almost a year ago now. “He wasn’t the same man when he died. I barely recognized him, to be honest. He’s better off dead than he was in his state.”

Potter nodded awkwardly and the game continued. Draco finally managed to take a piece.

“Why did you save my life? From the fiendfyre?”

“Because you were calling for help. You looked terrified. I couldn’t just leave you there to burn.”

“I was terrified.” Softly he added, “And I would have deserved it then. If you had left me.”

“No one deserves that. Not even slimy Slytherin gits like you.” Draco smiled.

“Well. Thanks, Potter.”

“Don’t mention it.” Draco took the next piece with a triumphant cackle.

“And you thought I wouldn’t win this round.”

 

“The game isn’t over yet. Ask your bloody question.”

Draco thought about it. “Why didn’t you fuck Weasley more? She seemed pretty enough. For a Blood Traitor.”

Potter ignored the jab, closing his eyes as though desperately trying to hold something back. He lost the battle with a gulp and the words, “Because I’m gay.”


	5. Lust

“Oh,” Draco managed after a pause. He hadn’t been expecting that. “You don’t look like a fag.”

Draco cursed himself as Potter flushed with anger. “Sorry. I just mean you look rather straight. There’s no problem with it. I certainly don’t have a problem with it.”

“Right, well, the rest of the wizarding world would go mad if they found out. So if you could not tell anyone, I’d appreciate it.” Potter’s voice was impassive, but there was a lake of fear beneath the calm on his face. Draco found himself reaching out to grip his shoulder.

“I won’t tell anyone, Potter, that’s your business.”

“Thanks.” Potter gave him a small smile. “The green ghouls are back. Should I just ignore them?”

Draco smirked. “Yea, just ignore them. Hopefully they’ll go away soon. Shall we keep playing or do you need rest?”

The other man rolled his eyes. “Malfoy, I’m not going to let you win just because I’m seeing imaginary creatures. I’m going to beat you WHILE seeing imaginary creatures to prove my superiority.”

“Well you can try, Potter, but I have a good feeling about this game.”

Draco’s good feeling lasted exactly thirty seconds, before Potter managed to checkmate him, to Draco’s utter surprise.

“You shouldn’t play games with the Chosen One,” Potter said, tutting. “I can see right through any defense. Haven’t you heard the stories?”

“Ah, you got bloody lucky, Potter,” Draco grumbled. “Ask your two questions and I’ll kill you next game.”

“It’s your third attempt. I’m not too worried.” Potter thought for a moment. “I suppose it’s only fair. The tabloids are all writing about you and Astoria being estranged. Why did that happen? Why aren’t you divorced?”

Draco sighed. “Does that count as two? And since when do you read the tabloids?”

“No, just one. I have to see how the wizarding world is treating my hermetic reclusion.”

“Those are big words for you, Potter,” Draco said, fighting the power of the veritaserum as much as he could. “Fine. We were young. I was in a bad place mentally. I just wanted someone who would be there for me. Someone who would have to be there for me. Astoria was my friend, she was from a good family, and my parents were pressuring me to marry. She seemed like the solution to everything. She wasn’t. And, I haven’t told anyone this that I don’t trust so I’ll know who to hex if you leak it, I’m gay too.”

Potter burst out laughing. Draco stared at him, bemused, as he tried to get ahold of himself.

“Sorry- It’s not you. Well,” he burst into another fit of giggles. “What the hell are the odds that two of the biggest names from the Dark War would both be bent?”

“Forget about me,” Draco protested, “What about the fucking Chosen One? The man who saved the entire bloody wizarding world, nearly single-handedly? Every infant in our world knows your name, Potter. I can barely believe it myself and I heard it from your lips. While you had taken veritaserum.”

“I’d be villainized if it got out. I suppose I could always blame it on you, now that I know. The Great, Famous Harry Potter corrupted by former Death Eater Draco Malfoy. I see the headlines now.”

Draco scowled at him. “That’s not bloody funny. It’s bad enough you’re my patient. You know that if you die in the next five years now Witch Weekly will be saying I poisoned you.”

“And who’s to say they won’t be right?” Harry asked, wiggling his eyebrows at Draco suggestively.

“Ask your other question, you wanker,” Draco said, trying and failing to keep the smile from his face.

“Alright. Did you ever fantasize about me while we were in school?”

“Bloody hell, Potter. Yes. But only angrily after quidditch matches.”

“Still counts, even angrily after quidditch matches. I, er, I think that makes you the wanker, Draco.”

“Shuttup, Scarhead.” Draco groaned, rubbing his forehead. “I knew that veritaserum was a bad idea.”

“I guess that means you don’t want a shot at redemption, then?” Harry asked. His tone was innocent but there was a mischievous glint in his eyes. Draco considered it, not knowing how many other secrets he had that he was forgetting about.

“One more, and if I win this, I win the game.”

“Fine,” Harry said, “But if I win I get three questions.”

“Deal.” Draco moved his wand over the chessboard, resetting it. “I’m white this game.”

“Of course. I have to give you every advantage I can.”

“You’re bloody aggravating, Potter.”

Harry smiled. “I know I am. White moves first, Mister Malfoy.”

Draco shot him one last scowl before moving a pawn. He narrowed his eyes and focused more than he ever had at a chess game before. Still, Potter managed to take a pawn first.

“Do you just want to give up?” Harry asked. “I’ll show mercy, I promise.”

“Fat chance. Ask your question so I can humble you.”

“Alright, then, who did you lose your virginity to?”

“You mean what girl? Or the first time I had gay sex?”

“Gay sex. Everyone knows you fucked Pansy in school.”

“Touche,” Draco said with a nod. “Pansy was the first girl. And the first one to realize I was gay, really. She knew it before I did. Do you remember Justin Finch-Fletchley?”

“No way in hell,” Potter said in disbelief. “You’d never fuck a muggleborn.”

“I fucked a mudblood,” Draco admitted, blushing. “For years. We hated each other. But the sex was out of this world. I figured my parents would be disappointed enough that I was gay, I couldn’t do anything to make that worse. I hope he’s doing well now. I haven’t talked to him since the war.”

“He is doing well. I think he and MacMillan finally hooked up.” Potter’s face was calculating as he waited for Draco’s reaction.

“Oh, good, that’s good,” Draco said quickly. “About bloody time. The whole school knew they were meant for each other.”

“I can’t believe you fucked a muggleborn, Draco, what would your friends say?”

“Pansy was cool with it,” he explained. “The others. God, they’d have more of a problem with the mudblood than they would with me being gay.”

Harry laughed. “Your move, mudfucker.”

Draco turned up his nose and moved his knight, taking Potter’s bishop. Potter raised an eyebrow.

“You’ll lose your knight just to take one of my pieces?”

“Yes I will. You don’t get to ask all the bloody questions. Since it’s only fair, have you ever fantasized about me?”

Harry flushed a deep crimson red. He opened and shut his mouth a few times. Finally he sighed and gave into the potion. “Yes.”

“Oh come on, Harry,” Draco said amused. “I gave you more than that. When did you last fantasize about me?”

His mouth twitched. His eyebrows furrowed together until they were indistinguishable from each other. Potter appeared to be fighting the veritaserum as hard as he could. Draco watched him curiously. He felt his cock twitch in anticipation of Harry’s answer. Finally, as if unable to help himself, the Chosen One spoke. “Er- this morning. Bloody hell, Malfoy, that’s cheating. You already asked a question.”

Draco’s heart started beating faster. He could see Potter’s cock standing at attention in his mind, that slow walk to the bathroom. He couldn’t help the images that were pouring into his mind, picturing Harry’s naked body. The hospital gown was already revealing. That morning his ass had caught the gown, showing off everything that Draco wanted to take. The thought that Potter lusted after him too was almost too much to bear. Professional, he reminded himself. Healers don’t fuck their god damn patients, no matter how attractive their asses are, or even if they lust after you too. He swallowed hard. A smirk rose unbidden to his lips.

“Well, well, well, Potter. Who would have thought? I need to give you your injection. It’s about time for another pain potion as well.” Deflecting was the best bet at this point. If he kept talking to Potter, he’d want to fuck him. Well, want to fuck him more than he already did. Potter was still red with embarrassment as Draco handed him a medicine glass full of pain potion, and pushed a needle into his neck. Heat was practically radiating off him, which didn’t help with Draco’s distraction. 

“Right, we better finish this game. I have to win one of the three. To redeem the Malfoy name.” He tried to keep his voice light, to show Harry he wasn’t offended by his admission. That seemed to placate his patient, who turned back to the chessboard and promptly took Draco’s knight. There was something of a challenge in Potter’s eyes, he realized. He should have abandoned the chess game while he still could. 

“When was the last time you wanked thinking about me?” Harry asked, his voice nonchalant. His posture gave him away, tense and gripping the edge of the bed tightly enough to turn his knuckles white. Malfoy’s cock gave another twitch. It didn’t seem to want to be a professional. He quickly reminded himself that Potter wasn’t even in his right mind. He was still hallucinating, for Salazar’s sake. 

Through gritted teeth, he answered, “This morning.”

Potter’s eyes were almost black, staring into his own over the chessboard. “Jerking off at work. How slovenly.”

“Yes, well,” Draco tried to lie, then remembered the veritaserum. “You’re attractive, Potter, it doesn’t have to mean anything.”

“Right,” Potter said. He was still grinning, though, and there was a heat behind his eyes. “Your move.”

Draco fought bitterly for his next victory, just a pawn but he felt a sense of relief nonetheless. “Who was your first bent fuck?”

“You can’t just steal all my questions, Malfoy, you’ll have to come up with some of your own.”

“It’s a good question! And that wasn’t in the rules.”

“Fine. He was a muggle boy. You didn’t know him. You may know the second bloke, though. Oliver Wood?”

Draco raised an eyebrow. “Ah, the quidditch captain. You have good taste.”

“I know,” Harry smirked. “Want to raise the stakes on the bet for who wins?”

Draco surveyed him warily. “What do you mean by raise the stakes?”

“If you win,” Potter began. “I’ll take a stronger pain potion, I’ll take a nap and I won’t whinge about it.”

“That’s a terrible bet, Potter, that would only benefit you.”

“I wasn’t finished. If I win, I’ll just ask one question.”

Draco stared at him in suspicion. “Any question?”

“That’s already the rules of the game, isn’t it? You can’t lose.”

“Fine.” Harry smiled and checkmated him the next move. Draco stared at the board in incomprehension. “What the fuck, Potter?”

“I gave you a chance, didn’t I?”

“I don’t think I ever had a chance against you in chess. It’s rigged.” he sighed in frustration. “Alright, then, ask what you’re clearly dying to ask.”

“Do you want to fuck me right now?”

 

“Desperately,” Draco admitted. “But even if you wanted to, which I’m sure you don’t, you’re my patient, I’m a healer, we barely like each other, you’re hallucinating green men-”

“Ghouls.”

“What?”

Harry looked at him as though he were slow. “I’m hallucinating ghouls. That’s not the same as men.”

“Well the principle is the same. I wouldn’t fuck you, don’t worry. Some fantasies are better as fantasies.”

Potter looked a little disappointed as Draco vanished the chess board and busied himself pretending to make a potion, his dick raging up against his pants.


	6. Forget That

“I, err.”  Draco nervously broke the silence.  “I need to change your bandages.”

 

Potter nodded, pulling his hospital gown to the side looking far too happy.  Draco undid his bandages and rubbed the poultice onto his chest.  He was happy to see that the wound was healing nicely, even with the chimaera venom slowing down the process.  Touching Potter felt wrong now, though, invasive almost.  Not that the other man seemed to mind.  

 

“Draco?”

 

“Yeah?”

 

“I’m sorry for bringing all that up.  I know you’ve got a job to do.  Can we pretend nothing happened?”

 

Draco glanced at him hesitantly.  He wasn’t sure how Potter thought he would be able to just “pretend nothing happened,” but the last hour full of awkward silence hadn’t been fun.  

 

“Sure,” he said.  “How are the hallucinations?”

 

“They’re odd,” Potter said, “They swim in front of my eyes, but I know they’re not real so they’re easy to ignore, mostly.”

  
  


“That shows a lot of control, you know.”  Draco thought back to Potter fighting off the imperius curse.  Maybe the same presence of mind helped him with hallucinating.  “What do you see?”

 

“Mostly creatures from muggle fairy tales.  Ghouls and fairies.  It’s like they’re taunting me.”

 

“You probably did something to offend them.  Stop harassing the hospital fairies, Potter.”

 

“If you mean yourself, I think I’m in too far to stop now.”

 

“Oh very funny.”  Draco rolled his eyes and sat back down.  The awkward silence returned, filling in the space between them like a jelly.  He cleared his throat a few times.  “Err, so where are your usual cohorts? Weasley and Granger?”

 

Potter’s face clouded over.  “They don’t come around much anymore.  After what happened with Ginny.  I don’t really blame Ron for taking her side.  But Hermione too… For once that bullshit in the Prophet got it fairly accurate.  I’m a reclusive drunk whose friends have abandoned him, who only leaves his house for work.  And even then only once or twice a week.”

 

Draco frowned.  “I’m sorry.”

 

“Don’t be.  I don’t need fake friends cluttering up my life.  I do better on my own anyways.”

 

Draco couldn’t hold back his mocking comment.  “Oh yes, the solitary Chosen One, so black and blue from taking all of the burdens of the Wizarding World upon his shoulders that he’s forced into a life of loneliness,” he sneered.  “Don’t be so dramatic, Potter.  Just find better friends.”

 

“And how exactly am I supposed to do that?”   
  


“Well,” he said, choosing his words carefully.  “I think I once told you to avoid making friends with the wrong sort.  I’d suggest myself but I’d be contradicting my own advice.”

 

Potter raised an eyebrow.  “You, erm.  You’d probably be a terrible influence, really.  Think of all the trouble we’d get in.  We might, I dunno, break hospital protocol or something.”

 

Draco felt a flush rise to his face as he got Potter’s meaning.  He shook a finger at the other man accusingly while Potter laughed.  “You wish, Potter.”

 

“But I said I’d drop it, so I will.”

 

“Good,” Draco grumbled.  “Merlin, when can I knock you out again?”

 

“So you can go jerk off in the bathroom?”

 

“Potter, didn’t you just say you’d stop bringing it up.”

 

Harry rolled towards Draco.  “Well I meant it when I said it.  Does that count?”

 

“No.  Behave or someone else will have to be your healer.”  Harry looked a little hurt, but didn’t press his luck.  Instead he suggested another game of exploding snap, which Draco won handily.  Draco made small talk, avoiding any topics that could get either of them too excited, but Harry seemed to need silence to concentrate on the game.  Draco beat him again, giving him a condescending smirk.

 

“Alright, you’ve cheated,” Potter accused.

 

“If having a superior mind is cheating, then I’ve been doing it all my life,” Draco drawled.

 

“Shall we make it interesting?”

 

“Merlin’s beard, Potter, are games not be interesting to you unless you’re betting on them?”

 

Potter simply grinned. 

 

“If I win,” he said, leaning towards Draco, “You’re going to lock that door, come over here and pound my arse until I scream.”

 

Draco felt his groin grow warm as blood rushed unbidden to his cock.  He couldn’t help the images that rushed to his mind at even the mention of fucking Potter, at knowing how much Potter wanted to be fucked.  “And if I win?”

 

“If you win.  I’ll take a sleeping potion and give you some peace to do… well whatever you need to do.”  Potter gave him a conspiratorial wink that cause Draco’s blush to deepen.  He weighed his options, wondering if giving in to Potter would be that bad of an idea.  He had won every game of snap so far, and his odds were good again…

 

“You’re on, then.  I’ll go first.”  

 

The next game was bitterly close, and Draco was sweating with concentration near the end of it.  Somehow he managed to win.  He wondered why he didn’t feel happier about that.  Potter rolled his eyes as Draco handed him a cup of sleeping potion.  

 

“Happy, are you?  You’re the one who came up with this.”

 

“I got exactly what I wanted,” he said.  “I got you thinking of fucking me, and you didn’t try as hard to win that game as you usually do.”

 

“Dream on, Potter,” Draco sneered.  “Your arse isn’t fine enough for me to risk my job.  Or my reputation.”

 

“Right,” Potter yawned, falling asleep with his tongue half out of his mouth like a dog’s.  Draco shook his head at the sleeping wizard, exasperated.  If it wasn’t for the veritaserum, he would suspect that Potter was playing some cruel joke on him.  Even with Potter’s earlier honesty, it was hard to believe that he was as desperate for Draco’s cock as he seemed to be.  But still, there was something about Potter that drove him absolutely mad.  Something about that grin Potter gave him, like he knew every lewd thought Draco had ever had about him and wanted to make his fantasies come true.  Despite his best intentions, despite the fact that he knew that if Potter found out he could catch shit for this later, Draco felt himself giving in to the compulsion to touch himself.  

 

He ran to the bathroom, his hand already on his cock as he stroked furiously to the thought of pushing into Potter’s tight ass, making him beg for it, hearing him gasp as Draco pushed against his prostate.  His fantasies grew more dirty as he continued to pull on his dick, pretending his hand was Potter’s arse.  He came with a shameful moan, unable to control himself as he spilt his seed in the toilet, gasping Harry’s name.  When he regained his shame, he felt awful for putting a poor, unconscious man into his fantasies.  He retreated to his chair guiltily, summoning a book on philosophic theory.  

 

The book cleared his mind of all thoughts of Potter, filling it with more abstract ideas.  But somehow, Draco’s sense of time was still deeply connected with Potter’s sleep cycle.  When Potter was awake, time moved quickly, determined to evade Draco’s attempts to slow it down.  But when Potter slept, it was though for million years.  Draco read a few chapters in his book, but grew bored and watched Harry’s face for a while as the other man dreamed.  His face frowned, then curled into a smile, then shifted to a more neutral expression.  Draco felt like he could watch Harry’s face forever as it shifted between all of the emotion he had ever felt.  Forever ended too quickly, as Harry’s eyes shifted rapidly from past to present to past again.  Draco saw his eyes dart from side to side, but couldn’t tell what the other man was feeling, or why he seemed to cry out in pain.  Then his eyes burst open, and he focused in on Draco.  His mouth curled into a smirk.

 

“Have you been staring at me the whole time I’ve been asleep?”

 

Draco felt a flush rise to his cheeks, and cursed his pale skin for not hiding it.  “No, don’t be stupid.  You woke up at a bad time.”

 

“Oh, I’m sure I did.  I blame myself entirely.”  He sat up, rubbing his eyes.  “What time is it?”

 

“A little after five.  You slept most of the day.  Which is good, really, you saved yourself some time hallucinating.  How do you feel?”   
  


“Better.  No more fairies.  Besides you.”

 

“Not any funnier this time, Potter,” Draco said.  “Let’s see how those scratches are healing.”

 

He removed Potter’s bandages as gently as he could, and was pleased to see that the chest wound was almost completely closed up.  He rubbed some more healing ointment in.

 

“That’s great, really great.  After tomorrow you shouldn’t need pain potions.  And you can walk around Mungo’s, if you’re feeling up to it.  Or if you want to get assaulted by fans.”

 

Potter shuddered.  “We can see how I’m feeling tomorrow but I think that will have to be a hard pass.”

 

Draco laughed.  “That’s alright.  We can be shut ins for another five days.  Your skin still looks normal.  It’ll be fun to see how you look with purple skin.”

 

The other man scowled at him.  It wasn’t a very intimidating scowl, from the hospital bed.  Draco gave him an innocent smile in return, waving his wand to rewrap Potter’s chest.  He felt Potter’s eyes on him again and looked up to meet them.

 

“Have you been staring at me the whole time I’ve been healing you?” he asked with a grin.

 

“Yes,” Potter said stiffly.  “And I don’t have to lie about it because I’m not a complete tosser.”

 

“I am your healer, you know, and medical mistakes happen in hospitals all the time.”

 

“Oh I know.  You were born in a hospital, weren’t you, Malfoy?”  Draco smiled.  There was something about the banter he had with Potter that made him forget about the things that were wrong in his life.  This kind of talk, it was familiar.  It was safe, and routine to be at Potter’s throat.  

 

“Who wasn’t born in a hospital?”

 

“I don’t know where I was born, actually,” he admitted.

 

“Probably somewhere that was even more of a mistake than a hospital.”

 

“Good one, Malfoy, well played.”  They fell into a comfortable silence as Draco treated the bite wounds on Harry’s arm.  “How’s my arm looking?”

 

“Healing more slowly, but that’s normal.  That was the site of chimaera venom injection.”

 

“Oh.  Will that be longer than a week, then?”

 

Draco thought about it.  “Yes, but hopefully not much longer.  And you’ll be able to care for that at home.  You should avoid drinking too much, though.  That’ll slow the process.”

 

Harry screwed up his face at that.  “Right.  Well.  Want to play another game of chess?  No bets this time, I swear.”

  
“Alright.  But I have to warn you, my lucky number is 23 and I think this is our twenty third game.  I’ll probably have ungodly powers for this one.”  Despite his ungodly powers, Draco lost, horribly.  But even that couldn’t knock the smile from his face.


	7. Colors

Draco grinned in amusement at the angry purple Potter that lay on the bed. The effects of chimaera venom, though terrifying the first few days, were merely funny at this point. Potter had changed between at least half a dozen colors before noon, and each new one seemed to vex the man more than the last. Draco’s favorite had been a deep Slytherin green that made Potter look like a wood elf. Potter had not been amused at the comparison. He had been sulking all day, much to Draco’s continuing glee, and hadn’t had time between his gripes and moans to sexually harass Draco even once. Draco yawned. The wakefulness potions were useful up to a point, but he’d probably have to go home to sleep tonight. Luckily, Potter wouldn’t need as frequent of dosings of the antidote, so even the idiotic night healers would probably be able to do their jobs.

“Anything you’d care to do besides pout? It might be good for you to stretch those legs.”

Potter snorted. “I won’t subject myself to the laughter of the wizarding world today, Malfoy. Get me a book or something.”

“Alright, what do you want?”

“I don’t know. I don’t care. Anything that won’t bore me to tears. And nothing romantic.”

Malfoy thought about it and summoned “The Dragon of India,” one of his favorite fictional books growing up. He conjured his own philosophy book as well, realizing that he’d need something to do if Potter planned to spend the entire day reading. The dark-haired man took the book with a huff, opening it as though it owed him something. Draco smirked at him, then looked down at his book. Stoic philosophy in the wizarding world had always interested him, and with his father gone, he no longer felt guilty about reading it. They sat in a companionable, though frustrated on Potter’s end, silence for hours, absorbed in their respective books. After a while, though, Potter seemed to get bored. He put his book face down on the bed, open at his spot, which made Draco cringe for the poor leather-bound thing.

“I don’t understand. Why would the muggles want to kill a harmless dragon and his rider? It doesn’t make any sense.”

“It happened for hundreds of years, Harry. Muggles have always been afraid of wizards. When muggles get afraid, they get violent. Not unlike you, actually.”

“Shove off. They didn’t really, I’m sure. Pureblood propaganda.”

“No, I swear, it happened. Merlin, did you never listen in History of Magic?”

“When did that ever happen?”

“Err- all of the fourteenth century, for a start. Wendelin the weird? Surely you’ve heard of her.”

“Sounds familiar, I suppose. I still think this book is an exaggeration. It’s an unfair portrayal of muggles.”

Draco rolled his eyes. “You’re so bloody sensitive, Potter. Just enjoy the story. It’s a good one.”

Potter grumbled for a moment, then picked the book back up and began reading again, this time with a frown etched onto his face. Draco sighed, and tried to turn back to his own book. He found that it was difficult to focus on now, though and periodically found himself looking up at Potter, whose frown was gone now. He seemed to have finally gotten into the book, and had made it about three quarters of the way through it when Draco had him stop for lunch. Someone had brought up a greasy-looking gravy-covered mystery meat, served with a side of mashed potatoes that actually looked quite good. Draco handed him one of the trays, and Harry wrinkled up his nose again.

“Hospital food. The worst part about hospitals, besides dying people. Do you eat this trash every day?”

Draco stopped wolfing down the mashed potatoes to answer him. “Not usually. I bring my own lunches. But sometimes I forget. Or I stay here working for a few days. It’s not that bad if you don’t think about what’s in it.”

“Err what is in it?”

“Dead people mostly,” Draco said with a grin. “Or hippogryphs that get killed by the Knight Bus. Or-”

“Shove off, Malfoy, I get the point.” Harry looked down at his meal sadly, but started eating it nonetheless. “This is bloody revolting. Someone should do something about it.”

“The Great Harry Potter’s next quest to help the wizarding world: Improving hospital food one meal at a time. I can see the headlines now. You’ll be a hero, Potter,” Malfoy drawled.

Potter scowled again, his mood not improved by the meal. They finished their food, a sullen silence hanging between them, and Harry returned to his book. Draco set the trays outside the door. He sunk into his chair and closed his eyes, resolving only to rest for a moment, but he woke up to the sound of a book being viciously slammed shut, disoriented and unsure of how long he’d slept.

“Potter, I need to dose you,” he said, blearily rubbing his eyes.

“Go on, then. This book was dreadful, by the way. Entirely unrealistic. I don’t know how you stand reading shit like that.” Draco prepared the antivenom, a little hurt at Potter’s analysis.

“Then no more books for you,” he said. He shoved the needle into Harry’s arm a little more vigorously than necessary. “Most of the fictional books here are similar to Dragon of India. Because most ill wizards have better taste.”

“Well most ill wizards are probably delirious and I’m not any longer. Merlin’s beard, I’m getting so tired of sitting in this bed all day.”

“Are you sure you don’t want to go for a walk, then?”

Harry seemed to think about it for a moment. “I want to go on a walk. But I don’t want anyone to see me. We’ll use my invisibility cloak.”

“Potter, I don’t know if that’s such a good idea.”

“Oh, come off it, Draco, I’ll go mad with boredom if I don’t get out of this room. You can consider it part of my treatment if you like.”

Draco sighed, resolve melting already. “Alright, but I’m staying under it too. I don’t want to run into anyone who will ask awkward questions about why I’ve left you alone to your room.”

Harry grinned and triumph and stood, hospital gown hanging loosely from his thin frame. The white gown contrasted sharply with his now red skin, making him look like some sort of demon. The gown didn’t conceal nearly as much as Draco wished it would, and he found himself looking away in embarrassment as Harry retrieved the cloak that had let him get away with so much during his Hogwarts years. 

“Right, then. Come here.” Draco obeyed, stepping closer to Potter while still trying to avoid staring at him. Potter put his hands on Draco’s waist, sending electric shocks through his body as he was pulled in even closer to the other man. Their legs were touching. Their arms were too. Potter pulled the cloak over them, and Draco uncomfortably noticed that their feet were still showing. They’d have to get even closer. Potter hunched over slightly, and put an arm around Draco’s waist. He wanted to complain, he really did, but he didn’t see another way that the cloak would work for both of them, so he went along with it. 

“So where are we going? Diagon Alley? Hogsmeade?”

Draco chuckled. “Potter, I already told you you’re not worth my job. We’re not leaving the hospital. That’s very illegal. But I’ll let you decide which wards to visit.”

He could practically feel Potter pouting beside him. The other man didn't say anything, however. He merely tightened his grip on Draco, causing him to let out a little yelp, and began slowly moving forwards towards the door, dragging Draco with him. 

“Where's the permanent ward again?” Harry asked. “The one Lockhart’s in?”

“No,” Draco said shaking his head. “Absolutely not. I’m not going to the spell damage ward. I always leave feeling awful and sad. There are some witches and wizards in there who were really great, once.”

“I just wanted to say hello to Lockhart.”

“Well pick somewhere else.” They ended up quietly wandering around the lobby, watching all of the new patients as they checked in. Some of their maladies were fascinating, new even to Draco. Every so often, Potter’s hand would slip lower on Draco’s waist. Draco found that he enjoyed this, now that they were in a place where Potter couldn’t try to take things further. They made their way upstairs, where Potter stole a scone from a moving cart. He furiously, yet silently, mouthed to Draco about other wards getting better food than his, and stepped on Draco’s foot as though it was his fault. Draco decided that enough was enough after that, and dragged the seething Potter back to his room.

“There, at least you got to stretch your legs a bit.”

“I suppose,” said Potter, removing the cloak. Draco reluctantly removed Harry’s blue hand from his waist. “It was a nice change. Better than that book you threw at me earlier.”

“Oh I’m sure,” Draco said. “Well now what? More chess?”

“We could make a drinking game of chess.”

“Potter, alcohol slows the healing of Chimaera venom. You know you can’t have any until you’re well. Or at least until you’re discharged.”

“Alright,” Potter said. “Well I have some venomous tentacula venom. That’ll get us plenty high, and won’t affect my healing.”

Draco shook his head. “I’m at work!”

“You’ve got one patient. I just got a dose of antivenom so I won’t need another for three hours. You’ve got nothing to do until the next time I need a dose. Come on, Draco, please?”

Draco sighed. It was getting harder and harder to say no to Potter about the things he knew he needed to say no to. Still, Potter was right. It wasn’t as though he had any real work to do today. “Alright, but just a bit. Salazar, Potter, when you got here you wouldn’t even take a pain potion.”

“Well that was before I knew what good hands I was in.”

“Alright, then, you get the tentacula venom ready. I’ll set up the board. We’re alternating between this and exploding snap, you know.”

“If you insist, Mr. Malfoy, then I suppose we shall.”


	8. Tentacula

Draco took a shot of the tentacula venom, grimacing at the bitter taste it left on his tongue. “This stuff is safe, right, Potter? You’re sure?”

“In small doses, yeah,” Harry said, grinning at the chess board that still displayed his victory. “It’ll just get you high. I wouldn’t recommend chugging a whole bottle of the stuff, though. That’s where things get dangerous.”

“And it’s not addictive?”

“No more than alcohol.”

“Oh very reassuring, coming from you,” Draco groaned. “You know, if you wanted us to get high together, we don’t have to play games about it. You could just ask.”

Harry considered for a moment. “I could, but what’s the fun in that?”

“Being high?”

“Fine, if you want to ruin all of my enjoyment, then we’ll just get high,” Potter pouted, and his skin turned to the same deep blue color of the tentacula venom. He reached over and took a shot of it, making a face. 

“Why do you carry so many potions with you anyways, Potter? Do all aurors do that?”

“No, just the smart ones,” he said. “And I’m one of the smart ones. I also have a growth potion, a shrinking potion and a sleeping potion. In case of emergencies.”

“What kind of bloody emergencies would you need a shrinking potion for?”

Harry shrugged. “I dunno. I haven’t needed it yet but I’ll let you know what happens when I do.”

Draco sighed dramatically and looked up at the ceiling. “So how long until this takes effect?”

“Do another shot and you’ll feel it in a few minutes.” Harry picked up two of the cups he’d poured and handed one to Draco. “Cheers.”

“Cheers,” Draco said, rolling his eyes as he drank. “Merlin’s cock, that’s disgusting.”

“Disgusting but useful.” They sat in a comfortable silence for a while. Then Draco heard something he never expected to hear again. The voice of his mother.

Draco, darling, I need you to invite the Greengrasses for dinner. I haven’t seen dear Daphne in ages. 

It seemed like it was coming from the hall. Draco stood as rapidly as he was able, the room had begun to spin and close in on him, but he didn’t care. He had to see if it was really her.

“Draco?” he heard Harry call, but he ignored the other man, opening the door and bolting into the hallway. The nurses and doctors walking down the hall stared at him as he looked around for his mother, frantically now. Had she not really been dead? Was that just part of a dream? But Narcissa wasn’t there. He felt a strong pair of arms grip around him, pulling him back into the room, and he thought for a moment it might be her. It wasn’t. It was just Harry. Draco realized he was crying, heaving huge sobs that shook his body to his bones. Harry was holding him, on the bed now, rocking him forwards and backwards. Draco clung to him, sobbing into Potter’s arms.

“My-my mother,” he managed to choke out, “I thought I heard her voice.”

“I’m sorry. I’ve heard people calling for me too. I don’t remember my mother’s voice but I’ve thought she was saying my name. I should have warned you. It’s unusual but sometimes tentacula venom causes hallucinations at first. It’ll pass.” Harry stroked Draco’s hair, hugging him close. He relaxed as Harry’s hand brushed through his hair, calming him down. His sobs slowly ebbed, and he leaned into Potter, wrapping his arms around Harry’s waist. 

“Thank you, Harry,” he said. The voice was completely gone now. He felt relaxed. Happy, even. He wasn’t sure if Potter’s skin was actually pink or if he was still hallucinating, but it was a nice shade. It went with Harry’s dark hair quite well. He felt his mind cloud over into a comfortable high. The other man’s only response was to pull him closer. In his high state, Potter’s arms felt even better than his fantasies could have allowed. 

“I shouldn’t have given you so much. I’m sorry. I didn’t even think about tolerance.”

“’S alright,” he mumbled. “I feel fine now. Sorry for crying all over you.”

“Don’t be stupid, Malfoy, I’m just glad you’re alright.”

“I’m alright,” Draco said, trying to think of a way to change the subject. “Tell me a secret, Potter.”

Potter seemed to think about it for a moment. “Umm I killed a basilisk my second year at Hogwarts.”

“Come off it,” Draco snorted. “That was just a stupid rumor. You didn’t really kill a bloody basilisk.”

Draco listened in fascination, still curled up against Potter, as he heard the details of the story that the teachers had tried so hard to keep under wraps. He shook his head, still not sure if Harry was having a laugh. He had to admit, though, the story was a good one. Not that he actually heard the end of it. Potter’s arms around his waist were becoming all too distracting.

“Right, then, you tell me a secret.”

“I’m hard right now,” he blurted before he could stop himself. “Err, fuck, I don’t know why I said that.”

“I think,” Potter whispered in his ear, “That you said that because you want me to do something about it. Is that right, Draco?”

“You shouldn’t. My job- ah, fuckit, I want to fuck you, Harry. Are you high, though? Is that alright?” Harry grinned.

“I’m not that high, Malfoy, but you are. We can’t fuck while you’re so high.” Draco let out a sound of protest, that quickly turned to a moan as he felt a hand on his cock. “But I’ll still get you off. Out of charity.”

“Out of charity, right, not as though you’ve been drooling over my dick this whole-ahh.” He fell silent as Harry gripped him harder and began to pump his hand up and down. Draco was soon lost in the sensations, feeling Harry’s hard cock pushing into his back, one of Harry’s arms across his chest. And of course the pleasure radiating from his penis as Potter jerked it up and down, increasing his pace.

“Fuck, Potter, that feels good. Not as good as your tight arse would feel, but still good.” Harry let out a moan as Draco flipped around to face him. He grabbed Potter’s cock roughly, shuddering as Harry’s hand found his own again. He jerked Harry harder, slowly at first but increasing his pace, causing the other man to let out a series of wanton moans. Draco felt his climax building inside of him, Harry’s warm hand only driving him closer to it. He felt Harry’s thumb graze the head of his cock, and he knew he wouldn’t be able to hold back much longer. Desperately, he stroked Harry from his head to his base, gripping hard once he reached the bottom. 

Harry let out a cry, abandoning himself to his lusts as he came, and Draco let himself follow, thrusting into Harry’s hand as a white-hot wave of pleasure engulfed him. Thick ropes of cum exploded out of him and hit Harry’s chest, splattering his still-pink skin with threads of white. Harry’s own orgasm hit his chest too, because of how they were positioned. Draco laughed at how covered Harry was.

“You look like a two-bit whore, Harry.” Harry grinned lazily.

“Whose fault is that?”

“I blame you entirely.” Draco embraced the other man, rolling onto his back as he pulled Potter’s head onto his chest. “You’re an awful influence. I wasn’t supposed to lose my job, remember?”

Harry looked up at him with wide innocent eyes. “Well if you’re lucky, I won’t rat you out.”

Draco gave him a mocking glare. He cast a charm on the door to keep everyone out, just in case his boss felt the need to come check up on him while he was still nakedly cuddling his patient. Then he let himself close his eyes, feeling his breathing syncing up with Harry’s. He felt more at peace than he had in weeks, months even, maybe, as he drifted off into a drugged up, blissfully post orgasm sleep. When he awoke, Potter was still in his arms.


	9. Endings

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the big delay everyone!! I was working on editing the first draft of a novel that is NOW GOING TO BE PUBLISHED! :D Which means I have enough time to finish my stories here. Yay!

He had Potter discharged from the hospital to house quarantine next day.  It was technically a little soon, Potter still changed colors when he got beat particularly badly at chess, but Draco thought if he had to spend another minute next to the other man feeling guilty for touching him, he’d go mad.  He even took the day off, leaving Potter to wake to another healer.  All and all a good day for a man who’d never taken more than an hour off work before.  The guilt plagued him.  Harry could have still been feverish.  It could have been the drugs he was on, or the chimaera venom.  Potter could never have wanted him at all.  Maybe Draco had taken advantage of him, in the week state he was in.

 

And yet, and he couldn’t help but come back to the and yets, he didn’t think that was it.  He’d seen Harry watching him, lusting after him, heard the noises Potter made when Draco touched him. There was no way Harry wanted him.  And yet, for an hour or so the previous night, Draco had finally felt entirely sure that he had.  He cursed himself inwardly, taking another swig from his glass of absinthe.  Whoever came up with the idea that absinthe should be sipped was a pansy.  He choked down the bitter liquid, brooding into the fireplace.  If Potter wanted him, if he didn’t feel basely violated and disgusted that Draco had taken advantage of him in a hospital, he would have sent an owl by now.  (And yet.  And  _ yet…) _

 

There was a knock on his door.  His heart leaped and against his will he wondered if it could be Potter.  He pushed the thoughts aside.   He heard Flighty’s high voice.  The answering voice was male, deep.  It almost sounded like Potter’s.   _ It isn’t Potter’s, you idiot,  _ he told himself as he walked down the stairs.  But it was Potter.  A pink and blue skinned, blotchy Potter who was standing in his entryway, glaring at him.

 

“You left me naked in a hospital bed.”  Draco ran a hand through his hair, nervous though he wasn’t sure why.  Despite himself, there was a rush of joy.  Potter didn’t hate him.  Potter wanted to see him.

 

“Harry, what the hell are you doing out of your house?  You’re supposed to be quarantined.”  Harry’s scowl deepened.  Draco’s heart leaped to his throat.  He hadn’t noticed right away but Potter was- disheveled.  There was an almost wild gleam to his eyes.  His white button up shirt beneath his robes was open, revealing his chest.  His hair, as usual, hung around his face like a madman’s.

 

“You  _ left me _ naked at a bloody hospital, Draco.  I hate hospitals.”

 

“Quarantine, Potter-”

 

“Oh shove off.  I’m not going to run into any muggles and we both know it.  You have to stop running from me, Draco, I’m not well enough to go chasing you everywhere.”  

 

Draco felt his face flush.  “Bloody hell, Potter, you’re breaking half a dozen laws right now.  I have half a mind to-”

 

“To what? To punish me?” Harry asked, giving him a challenging glare.  Draco jumped as Flighty squeaked, and scurried out of the room as quickly as his little legs could carry him.  Draco glared, trying to remember his position, his sense of duty, everything he was responsible for.  But Potter was in front of him shirtless, begging for punishment.  His cock sprang towards his chest, achingly hard against his body.  “Go on then,” Harry said softly, moving forward until they were chest to chest.

 

Draco didn’t wait another moment.  Moving as quickly as he could he took Harry into his arms, grabbing at him wildly wherever his hands could take purchase. His mouth was on Harry’s, needy and demanding at once.  Harry was hard against him, somehow unyielding even as he responded to Draco’s assault.  Harry’s hands were in his hair, gentle at first, but getting harder, pulling it as he pulled Draco’s face into his own.  Harry let out a sound- it could have been a grunt of pain or of pleasure, he couldn’t be sure.  Draco found that his fingers had been raking down Potter’s back, robe cast aside, and dark red lines painted his trails.  His hand found its way to Harry’s cock.  The other man was hard and ready.  Thin but long, almost like Harry himself. “ _ Merlin, Potter,” _ he breathed.  

 

Draco felt a shock of electricity run through his body as Potter found his cock and rubbed it through his underclothes.  Harry whimpered, close enough to bite Draco’s neck as he whispered into his ear, “Fuck me, Draco.  God, I need you to fuck me.”

 

Draco groaned, his dick straining, dying to fulfill Harry’s request.  Then he smirked, pulling Harry away.  “Not yet, Potter.  You wanted to be punished?  You shall be.  Take your clothes off.”

 

Harry pouted a little, sliding off his underclothes to reveal every inch of his body to Draco.  “Satisfied?”

 

“Not at all.  I want to smack your ass until you cry, so you can feel it better when I fuck you.”  Harry was grinning so widely Draco thought he might split his face.  Draco strode towards him, grabbing him in a rough embrace with one arm while raising the other.   “That’s for breaking your quarantine.”

 

He let his hand flash down, hitting Harry’s ass hard.  His cock twitched eagerly, begging for a touch.  Harry squealed.  “That,” he emphasized as he gave Harry’s ass another smack, “Is for being such a bloody tease for days in the hospital.”  He gave it another few whacks, just for fun, pulling Harry’s wincing body against his, letting their cocks rub against one another.  “Have you had enough punishment?  Get what you wanted?”

 

“Just fuck me already,” Harry gasped.  Draco was all too happy to comply.  He pushed Harry down to his knees, crouching behind him.  He cast a lubrication spell, and gently pushed against Potter’s asshole with one finger.  Potter gasped as it slid in, and Draco explored his ass, pushing up towards his prostate.  Harry twitched again, and Draco slid in another finger, watching Harry.  The other man groaned in pleasure, and Draco couldn’t take any more.  He had to be inside this man, who moaned at even a few fingers inside him.  He lined himself up with Harry, pressing the head of his cock up against his ass.  He felt resistance, then he was swallowed by pleasure.  Potter was tighter than any man Draco had ever been with.  He thrust out and in again, pausing to relish the feeling.  Potter let out a cry, between pain and pleasure again, and Draco thrust into him, unable to find any ounce of control.  He pumped into Potter faster, and harder, making sure to hit Harry’s prostate with every thrust.  He was rewarded with high moans, and Harry began to buck against him.  

 

Draco flipped him onto his stomach, needing to be in control, to get more of Potter.  He leaned in to kiss the other man again, letting his cock find its way back into Potter’s ass.   He moaned, holding Harry’s legs back, needing to be deeper even inside his childhood enemy.  Potter pulled him in, trying to help him, to force him deeper, close to some edge.  Draco reached a hand down, jerking Potter off with every thrust.  He was close now.  The tightness gripping his dick was about to overwhelm him, and he was taking Potter with him.  His eyes closed as he let himself be overwhelmed finally, blissfully.  He shouted into the ceiling, hips moving of their own accord to bury himself in Potter as he came, harder than he remembered ever doing.  He blearily stroked Potter’s cock, as the other man exploded into his hand, and Draco felt his throbbing cock squeezed harder in rhythm.  He lay onto his back, panting.

 

“Finally.  Merlin,” Potter mumbled.  “That was almost worth the wait.”

 

“Almost,” Draco murmured.  “That’s very rude, you know.”

 

“Ah well.”   
  


“We still have to get you quarantined.”  Harry frowned.

 

“Alright.  If you come with me.  To keep me company.”  Draco grinned.  He wasn’t sure what was happening, or why Potter wanted to be with an ex-death eater, and yet… He was finding that he no longer really cared.


End file.
